The Elder is extremely sensitive on this particular point-anything
but speak disparagingly of that sermon. It has been his stock in
trade for numerous years. He begs they will listen to him for a
minute, excuse this little trifling variation, charge it to the
susceptibility of his constitution. He is willing to admit there is
capital in his example which may be used for bad purposes, and says,
"Somehow, when I take a little, it don't seem to go right." Again he
gives a vacant look at his friends, gets up, resting his hands on
the table, endeavours to keep a perpendicular, but declares himself
so debilitated by his sleep that he must wait a little longer.
Sinking back upon the settee, he exclaims, "You had better send that
nigger to his cabin." This was carrying the amusement a little
beyond Marston's own "gauge," and it being declared time to adjourn,
preparations were made to take care of the Elder, who was soon
placed horizontally in a waggon and driven away for his home. "The
Elder is gone beyond himself, beyond everything," said Marston, as
they carried him out of the door. "You can go, Harry, I like your
preaching; bring it down to the right system for my property, and
I'll make a dollar or two out of it yet," he whispers, shaking his
head, as Harry, bowing submissively, leaves the door.
Just as they were making preparations to retire, a carriage drove to
the gate, and in the next minute a dashing young fellow came rushing
into the house, apparently in great anxiety. He was followed by a
well-dressed man, whose countenance and sharp features, full of
sternness, indicated much mechanical study. He hesitated as the
young man advanced, took Marston by the hand, nervously, led him
aside, whispered something in his ear. Taking a few steps towards a
window, the intruder, for such he seemed, stood almost motionless,
with his eyes firmly and watchfully fixed upon them, a paper in his
right hand. "It is too often, Lorenzo; these things may prove
fatal," said Marston, giving an inquiring glance at the man, still
standing at the window.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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